


The Easy Way Out

by FionaTailynn



Category: STID - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Star Trek Into Darkness - Fandom, Star Trek Reboot
Genre: Angst, Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, Clones, Crossover, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Origins, Prequel, Sorry Not Sorry, sci fi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FionaTailynn/pseuds/FionaTailynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and always proud to take the easy way out of difficult situations, is asked for a DNA sample by the Human Genetics Mutation Academy, a mysterious institute, which has set human perfection as its goal, and they create it in the form of Khan Noonien Singh, an almost perfect replica of Sherlock, himself. Only stronger, smarter, faster, better.<br/>But Khan grows out of control, and only the consulting detective stands the slightest chance against him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good

 

 

 

> And the worst part is  
>  Before it gets  
>  Any better, we're  
>  Heading for a cliff.  
>  And in the free fall I  
>  Will realize  
>  I'm better off  
>  When I hit the bottom
> 
> -Hayley Williams/Josh Farro

* * *

 

To whomever opened this cryo-box,

First big mistake. You should have never opened this box; you should have let Khan drift through space, God why did you even think he was there in the first place?  
Anyways, I'm not going to blame you for having done this. I was no better. In fact I am writing this now, though I have no reason to believe it'll be seen by someone who can read English, let alone even be found...

* * *

The idea was inviting, of course. But why me? Stupid question, I knew exactly why me. Because I am  _the_ Sherlock Holmes. I don't mean to brag (or yes, I do), but I  _am_ probably one of the most brilliant minds of the present time. It isn't surprising that they'd pick me for their experimental human-mutants. But there had to be a catch to this. There was always a catch. Certainly when you have to give a DNA sample of yourself to some secret governmental organization. And even more certainly when this organization is so insane it thinks it could create super-humans. Then again, it was worth a shot. Then again, what did I care?  
I didn't want recognition (we all know where that leads...) I just wanted a case. All I wanted was a stupid case and instead they sent some well-dressed men with sunglasses here, boring me with their many Health And Safety rules and rambling about The People Of Tomorrow as if it actually mattered to me whether the world blew up once I was gone. It's bound to happen anyway, Superhumans or not.

Well in a way I did care, but admitting this just made me try to convince myself of the opposite. I pursed my lips, as the two men standing opposite me, behind the coffee table of 221B, awaited my answer with seemingly growing impatience. It irritated me. As if no "normal" person would take a while to decide whether they wanted desperate scientists to play around with their gene codes. Idiots.

I was about to say no, when I remembered the pay for it all: £1500. A lot of money for one small sample. Although I guess anyone mentally-impaired enough to aspire human perfection would have a lot of money to waste. Money is one of those things that go into the grey-zone of my caring. It's not that I especially like it but I certainly never _mind_ it. John would certainly be happy about it. I was pretty sure John would tell me not to do this, were he here, but secretly regret having turned down so much money. So I accepted, of course.

After all what was the worst that could happen?

Surprisingly, the entire process only took a couple seconds. I thought they would ask for an appointment or something of the sort, but as soon as I signed the forty-page contract, they pulled out a syringe, took a probe of my blood and one or two hairsamples. Left alone in my flat, I sat on the armchair rethinking what I'd just done. Would The People Of Tomorrow really be better? Better at everything? I have to admit, the thought did give me a sort of pride at the time. I liked the idea that the world would be a better place because of me, even after my death. You can be as cold and emotionless as me, and still like doing good if it doesn't involve getting emotionally attached. That's why I love my job.

John got home an hour or so later while I was playing "The Four Seasons" by Vivaldi on my violin. I didn't tell him what had happened. I don't know why. I guess it's just because he didn't specifically ask "Hey, Sherlock, did, by any chance, some odd governmental organization swing by the flat and take a DNA probe of you?" He didn't interrupt my playing because he knew I disliked that. I've always appreciated that about John. However judgmental I get about him and his stupid, ignorant ways (see what I mean?), he only rarely refrained to do the same. I smiled as the end of the winter neared and I finished the forty-minute-long piece. He continued not to talk to me. I guess it's because usually I play the violin when I'm thinking. Honestly, I wished for him to talk to me then. Sometimes I forget how sad and lonely my life can get. These are the thoughts I have always hated myself for having. I wondered if the potential Superhumans, who would grow from my genetic code, would hate themselves, too, when they got sentimental. Then I wondered whether that was a good or bad thing. Also the entire situation started to make me feel slightly uncomfortable. Suddenly the idea of someone else sharing my intelligence with me gave me an odd feeling. The one thing that made me special was my mind. And if these scientists  _did_ succeed, they would just makes as many photocopies of me as they wanted. Although, come to think of it, would that also in a way make me immortal? No, it wouldn't. It couldn't. They would all just be poor copies of me. Less than that. The HGMA was collecting gene samples from hundreds, maybe thousands of "superior" beings. But in a way, maybe I could live forever. In the form of many 0s and 1s on a computer's hard drive. In the end I felt a little relieved that, even though it would inevitably be washed away by the always approaching tides of oblivion, I had left some kind of mark on this planet that had nothing to do with police work and was definitely not negative. It was a nice feeling.

I put down my violin and walked into the kitchen to join and converse with John, still leaving out the significant detail about what had happened that morning. It didn't bother either of us so what was the problem with it?

 


	2. Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is invited to the HGMA to see the progress they have made.

Life continued surprisingly normally after that day. No one of the absolutely-secret-organization-so-secret-we're-watching-your-every-step-so-we'll-know-if-you-tell-somebody organization contacted me again, thanking me for the 10ml of blood and those few hairs or telling me that the experiment was a success/failure. It annoyed me in a way it shouldn't. Of course they'd take a while to get any results from it, but I guess I just wanted to know what was going on with what was rightfully mine. Well, it wasn't mine, part of the contract was a disclaimer so that I couldn't make any profit from whatever sum of money they made with my DNA. Still I wanted to find out something about it, so I weighed out my options and called the number I'd been given in case I had any questions. It rang twice before someone picked up:

"Human Genetics Mutation Academy, here today to make the people of tomorrow better. May I help you?" The woman on the other end was clearly reading off a script she had learnt by heart.

"Yes, my name is Sherlock Holmes, and I was wondering if it was possible to have a peek at how exactly my DNA has been used up to now?"

"Could you please hold?" I opened my mouth but before I could give her an answer, a boring New Orleans tune played on an E flat alto saxophone. I pursed my lips as I listened to the melody. My eyes flashed around the living room of my flat, waiting for something to happen. A good five minutes passed, in which I figured out who the murderer was of the relatively easy case I'd been working on. Finally the music stopped and a voice, this time a man, picked up.

"Mister Holmes, I hear you are intrigued by our studies."

"Yes," I answered, "Yes, I am."

"Well we first need to finish off this stage of the process, but afterwards, we'd be delighted to show him to you."

" _Him_?" I asked. Maybe their technologies weren't as amateurish as I'd initially thought.

"Yes, him. He'll be ready for human contact soon. We'll be in touch." He was just about to hang up when I asked another question:

"Wait! But how did you... create  _him_?"

"I'm sorry, but that's classified. Good day."  _Beep beep beep beep beep._ I put the phone down.

"Who was that?" John asked from behind me. I jerked and stared at him. How long had he been there?

"Uh... I..." He crossed his arms in front of him and raised his eyebrows.

"Sherlock," John said in that reprehending tone, which he reserved solely for saying the eight letters of my name. I still was only able to let out some uhs and ums.

"What were you saying about your DNA?" I decided in that moment to lie, because I had a tendency to take the easy way out of most situations. It's why I am usually considered "a selfish person."

"It was just some odd inheritable allergy test. You only have a deadly allergy to a kind of... bee, yes, if you have a certain gene. It was just to be sure because I was planning on maybe acquiring some of them, because I'd like to research them." John raised his eyebrows in surprise, but I don't think I saw any disbelief in it.

"Bees? What kind of bee?" I searched my Mind Palace for the fraction of a second (it only took this long because I've always had a fascination for those creatures).

" _Apis Mellifera_ , the Africanized Bee," I almost blurted out. John nodded and I smiled because once again my lie had worked and lying remained the unbeatable champion of Easy Ways Out.

They called me months later. I had almost forgotten about it all. I wish they hadn't now. But then again, I don't think I could've avoided my fate in any way.

I didn't think twice when they told me that  _he_ could receive visitors. I was the first who would be allowed, because I was in a way related to him (why no other donors weren't, I didn't know). He was my child in a way, I guess, but the idea of parenthood revolted me. I hoped they wouldn't make me have to raise this genetically mutated kid... That wasn't in the contract, I hadn't paid too much attention to, right? No, no, it couldn't be. Even if, they had more than a handful of DNA-donors who were probably all a more eligible parent than I would ever be. The thought calmed me down as I put on my coat and scarf and headed towards the doorway. Luckily, John asked me nothing about where I was going when I opened the door and quickly walked down stairs. Once outside, a car was waiting for me in a mycrofty manner and after some hesitation I got on. The driver said nothing to me so I said nothing back and simply stared out the window, imagining what  _he_ would be like. He'd probably have little to no similarities to my infant-self, as my genetics were inside him amongst those of countless others, and I doubted his superiorness would be visible at this early stage. But still, I was intrigued to see this child that without me would not be, wanted to know who he was and who he would become. I wanted to know whether he, whoever he was, would also always take the easy way out. Would he be a better person in my sense of the word or in everyone else's?

Before I knew it, I found myself walking down a corridor of laboratories following a woman wearing a grey suit and excessively high stilettos. She, unlike I, took no notice of the many doors we passed, and probably knew everything about the secrets they hid. My heart started pounding as I noticed I was getting increasingly close to  _him_. What should I say to him? He wouldn't understand me anyways but still... I guess, I just wanted to have a somewhat stable relationship with him. Finally the woman stopped in front of a door and swiped a membership card through a slot in front of it. The lock clicked open and she let me pass first. The room was unlit and she left saying something about getting the professor then closed the door behind me. When I heard another click I knew that I was in fact locked inside now. As I squinted around, waiting for my eyes to adjust, a blue shimmer on the far end of the room caught my eye. For a second I pondered over whether I should wait for this professor to arrive, but I dismissed the idea of a Superinfant being in any way dangerous to me.

Steadily, I made my way towards the light, feeling the glow on my face. As I got closer, I noticed that it was in fact a kind of tank filled with indefinable liquid. It was still too far for me to make anything out except that there was some kind of body growing within it. While approaching the aquarium the feature's  _he_ had started to take shape: he had dark hair, which gently floated around his closed eyes, and quite pale skin. Once I cautiously took a couple steps closer I could also see that his face was rather long with quite high cheekbones and a strong cupid's bow. I shuttered, as it became clear to me, that this was not an infant but a fully grown, 6 foot tall man. I took the last step, which made the glass be the only thing that made us unable to touch. My lips quivered as I gazed over his lightly closed lids; They revealed nothing about his eye hue, but an odd feeling inside told me that they were probably a light, icy, blue. Just like my own.  
I had absolutely no idea how they'd done it but there  _he_ was. An adult, Superhuman, who was absolutely identical to me.

"We named him Khan."

The voice made me jump and I immediately turned around, prepared to take a defensive position. There stood the afore-mentioned professor, hands in the pockets of his lab coat. He was rather old and didn't seem to have shaven in a month. His jumper was of the sort that made me think John would instantly find something likable about him, and his old face, though worn-down looked relatively friendly. I stared at him -I'm not sure how long- until I finally understood what he said.

"Why Khan?" I asked, glancing back at the man in the tank. Now that I looked at him more carefully, I did notice some differences. He had a better shape than I did; it was more muscular, but he also looked as if his stamina would be better than mine. Also, in all, he looked harsher.

"Khan means 'leader' in Urdu. We thought it fit him well."

"Why's that?" I asked a little absently, while I watched him in his sleep.

"Well he's the first of his kind. He will lead the world into a new age, an age of human-perfection." I said nothing and continued to examine Khan, as if he might suddenly move and I would miss it.

"I suppose," the professor, who still hadn't revealed his name, spoke again, "you are wondering why you and he have so many similarities." I finally took my gaze off the superhuman.

"Yes," I said less loudly than I usually talk, but it was still loud enough for him to clearly hear me. The professor smiled.

"Well, Mr Holmes, it turns out you have what we call 'almost-perfect genes'. You have all the good traits we can use to achieve perfection." I couldn't quite believe this.

"Even though I don't c-" But he cut me off: "You don't care," he finished the sentence, "Mr Holmes, sentimentality, as I'm sure you know is human's greatest weakness."  _Finally_ someone who understood me.

"If I am 'perfect', as you say," I turned my head back to the tank, "then why isn't he an exact replica of me?"

"I said almost-perfect. Absolute perfection is impossible for humans..." He smiled. "But not necessarily for superhumans. What we do is we use your genetic code and locate all the good traits in it; your intelligence, your stamina, your detachedness from others, and we enhance them, strengthen them and eliminate the few faults we can find by replacing them with the genes of our other donors." I looked at him once more, compelled to ask what my faults were, but didn't in the end.

"As a result we have Khan. He is mostly a stronger copy of you, with some small genetic differences." I turned my head back to Khan, sleeping in such a peaceful manner. Suddenly I wondered how he was breathing, but passed the questions once more. I looked at him and saw my reflection. Only better. Khan was an updated, in every way better version of me. I could feel it, pulsing through his veins, the superhuman perfection that I could never achieve. It upset me. It probably wouldn't have, had he not looked exactly like me, minus the fitter body. He was me, but flawless. I wondered whether John could tell the difference between Khan and me, I wondered whether if one day Khan came home instead of me, John would keep living with him, noticing how suddenly I'd become better. At everything.

 _Why did you put yourself through this?_ I asked myself, realizing how much staring at the first of the perfect Superhumans hurt me. Maybe for once, I thought, I'm taking the hard way out.

_If you think that's hard, you're in for something._

The whole thing reminded me of why I always took the easy one. I was in fact a coward. When I noticed this, it also sprang to my mind that Khan would not be a coward, and it angered me even more. I was sure Khan wouldn't have got angry at such ridicule either. The vicious circle was infuriating. But just as I had enough of staring at him and decided to leave, the still-unnamed professor threw a completely unexpected question at me:

"Would you like to speak to him?" I turned around startled. I'd forgotten he was there, too. Honestly, I had no answer to his question. I couldn't think of how talking to him could worsen the situation anymore, but then again, was I really interested in hearing Khan's more intelligent and more deep thoughts than mine could ever be?

"Yes," I replied quite quickly. The professor smiled at me.

"Well then just stay right where you are." He turned around and left the room, not turning around and remembering that he also had to introduce himself. And so I waited. I don't know what exactly I waited for, what I expected from Khan, Sherlock 2.0, Super-Me, Perfect-Me. Maybe I could learn some things from him, but the truth was that I would and could never be as flawless as he was.

A loud alarm sound interrupted my train of thought. I looked over to the tank and as a light flashed up above the glass, the liquid was slowly drained. Sluggishly, the floating body of Khan sank down to the base of the giant tank until he was kneeling on the ground, though still unconscious. As the liquid got to the top of his head he bent over into a lying down position, so that his face was only out of the blue chemical when it was just a couple of inches high. In that moment I heard a gasp for air. Khan got back up into a kneeling position, his hands on the wet floor of the not completely drained tank, as he took long breaths. His breathing however, regulated after far less time than the average human would've taken to recover from that sort of situation. A door on the back of the tank opened and closed again, once Khan had disappeared through it, seemingly not noticing me, his imperfect doppelgänger on the other side of the glass.


End file.
